The Vow of the Strings
by dame egocentrique
Summary: One curse. Nine plagues. Two enemies. Some people call it fate that brought together Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. They say it's a vow.
1. Prologue: All Was Well

**title.** _the vow of the strings_

**summary.** _one curse. nine plagues. two enemies. some people call it fate that brought together draco malfoy and hermione granger. they say it's a vow._

**disclaimer.** _this is a non-profit fanfic and the harry potter universe is still j.k. rowling's._

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><p><em>"The mind of a bigot is like the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour upon it, the more it will contract." - <em>_Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr._

**Prologue: All Was Well**

Death Eaters weren't fools.

They may have murdered, raped and burned for their cause and lost twice, but they weren't fools. They may have stood behind a delusional half-blood, but that was no valid reason to consider them as fools.

No, Death Eaters were anything but fools. They were geniuses in the field of Dark Arts. Voldemort may have lost, but he was one of the best strategists the Wizarding world ever had the fortune of meeting. He may be a _megalomaniac_, but he was a Slytherin through and through, devising plans and means for world domination. Part of this meant hand-picking his followers so well that only few but worthy may carry his Dark Mark.

This was why people such as Snape, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, etc. were chosen for the fulfilment of the great task. It was because they were _more_ than capable of doing it.

But Augustus Rookwood knew more than this. While Malfoy, Lestrange, Avery and the others were cooking up their own plan to gain power alongside their master, Rookwood was busy playing protégé to the Dark Lord. While the others were busy running petty errands Lord Voldemort, he was busy learning a very dark secret from the powerful dark wizard.

Rookwood knew better, and that's why he was trying to cover up his snicker as Aurors led him away from the battered ruins of Hogwarts to the dark, filthy soil of Azkaban.

But as he was being dragged away, he caught sight of the Potter boy and the blood-traitor Weasleys. He started laughing and snickering. Potter looked at him like he was a madman and the others did the same. He noticed the red-faced Weasley who tried to kill him during the battle and laughed more.

_"FOOLS!"_ he yelled. Gasping, he yelled again, _"HE WAS TRYING TO SAVE YOU ALL!"_ Another sick, loud laugh issued from him. The ropes gripped him tighter as he nearly doubled over with malevolent laughter.

_"HE WAS TRYING TO SAVE US ALL! EXTERMINATE THE FILTH! SAVE THE PURITY OF OUR BLOOD!"_

Then tears streamed down his filthy face. He let the Aurors drag him away, his chest heaving with real, loud, wrecking sobs. It was evident to the crowd watching him that he looked very much like a madman now, but he didn't care. They were the madmen! All of them! Insane fools!

_"NOW IT'S TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"_ were Augustus Rookwood's last words before the Aurors whisked him to Azkaban.

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><p>The water rippled with waves as a soft wind blew along. The trees swayed and rustled in the wind. Birds, specifically owls, hooted in the distance. The sun shone on the horizon and its reflection on the Black Lake's waters was almost blinding, but its sight still welcome. The rustling and whooshing were the only sounds in the vicinity. Anyone who might pass by this place would surely be entranced by this peaceful and mesmerizing sight.<p>

Apparently, it had entranced one eighteen-year-old brunette's attention.

With her back to the sorrow and the horrors and the heartache that the castle behind her currently kept, she stood worn-out and bruised and scarred in front of the lake that held many childhood memories, basking in the peace and solitude it now offered her. Or maybe, always had offered her. She grasped the wand in her hand loosely for the battle was over. She tilted her chin up as the wind blew again and breathed in the air of freedom deeply.

She was free. Everyone was free. The battle was won and over.

Suddenly, a piercing ache went through her chest at the thought of the people they lost in the war. But as fast as it came, it was gone, squelched by her and overpowered by the peace surrounding her. There would be time to grieve and to mourn, but it was not now, yet. Her thoughts strayed to her parents who were on the other side of the world and wondered how they were. There would be time for their reunion, but she decided that it was not today, yet. She must rejuvenate her worn spirit first and regroup her scattered mind.

Let the lake be her solace, and damn everything else to oblivion in the meantime. She needed this.

Behind the huge tree to her left, a seventeen-year-old blond sat and stared at the water, lost in his thoughts and emotions. A raging war could be seen in his grey eyes as emotions battled against each other. He didn't know what to feel. The war had ended and he was now free from the Dark Lord that enslaved his family; shouldn't he be happy? The cause had failed and the filth they were supposed to exterminate were once again roaming free; shouldn't he be angry? His friends—an unexplainable pain gripped his chest and burned his eyes—were dead; shouldn't he be sad? He was going to Azkaban surely, for all those crimes he did; shouldn't he be afraid? Years and years of apathy had erased the word 'emotion' in his vocabulary. For him, feeling was a petty thing, not to be taken seriously. But now, he was a raging mess because of the same 'petty thing' he had repressed all along.

He went outside, to this place, to escape the severe awkwardness that threatened to suffocate him inside the castle. He looked for a little bit of peace and solitude before his life became an inferno… again. He suddenly felt a hundred years old with the thoughts he was entertaining. Seven years ago, he never would've thought that he'd be like this, the boy or the man that he was right now.

He wondered what his life would be after this. Everyone on the winning side would surely live their happy fairy tale lives afterwards, and everyone on the losing side, his side, would surely be rounded up again by the Ministry to pay for their crimes, or in his situation, his mistakes. He could still hear the old wizard's words until now, forever reverberating in his mind, forever haunting his decisions. He heard it whenever a Mud—Muggle-born was brought to his house, screaming and writhing under his father's or his aunt's or any masked man or woman's wand, spilling their blood_-that wasn't as muddy and as dark as his ancestors had told him_-on the dark floor of the manor's drawing room. He heard it whenever he pointed his wand at any person, even at any animal such as that bloody centaur a while ago.

_'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer…'_

He shut his eyes and clenched his fists. This was something he would never admit to anybody: that he believed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower, and that he wished everybody would think of him in the same way too; that he has scars and regrets and mistakes too, just like Harry _sodding_ Potter, and that_ he was sorry for everything…_

Let the lake be his solace, and damn everything else to oblivion in the meantime. He needed this.

Unbeknownst to both, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, Muggle-born and pure-blood, brunette and blond, champion of the winning side and supreme supporter of the losing side, shared a single similarity that day: their thoughts. And also unbeknownst to them, this was not the last time they would share something.

Both simultaneously raised their eyes to squint at the sun, took a deep breath and wished for a brighter day. An owl hooted at their amusing display and flew away. The wind continued to rustle the leaves of the big oak and maple trees around.

Fate sighed at the two teenagers. It was not the end, but the beginning… of everything.


	2. Chapter One: Tête à Tête

**Chapter One: Tête-à-Tête**

The summer sun covered everything in sight. Wild summer flowers painted the countryside with white, violet, yellow, and a whole lot of other magnificent colours. Other magnificent colours such as black and green and silver, you see, were extraordinary ones; Those flowers were of the Wizard kind. The demarcation line between the Muggle and Wizard countryside relied on these tiny little beauties. Sometimes the line would tangle and twist like a ribbon as some of the outrageously coloured wild flowers could be found among Wizard grounds that were in an approximately close distance with those of the Muggles.

It was somehow ironic that nature knew how to mingle more than its stewards could.

This bright and cheery beauty could be seen up above by a tawny owl which seemed out of place in this summery visage. It flew in a wide circle around an interesting red train before tucking its wings in and flying in fast speed to a particular window.

It flapped its wings and landed on the available spot outside the window. The tawny owl tapped its tiny feathered talons on the glass in a manner considered polite by humans.

"_Hello there... The angel from my nightmare… The shadow in the background of the moor…" _A soft voice could be heard inside the quiet compartment, accompanied by the sounds of the rolling pistons of Hogwarts Express as its beat. The owl tapped its talons on the glass again, louder this time.

The singing stopped. A bushy brown-haired head jerked towards the owl. Then it shook as if shaking off a trance.

The small window slid open and the owl flew in instantly, fluttering and hooting happily. A chuckle went out of the smiling mouth of the lone witch in the compartment as she put her wand down. "I understand your happiness, Errol, but you need to give me the Weasley memo," she told the excited owl.

The tawny owl, Errol (named after the deceased Weasley owl), as obedient as its namesake but not as clumsy and old, dropped to a stop in the brunette's shoulder and thrust its leg out. The witch smiled at this antic again and took the parchment from the owl's leg.

She unrolled it and whispered the words to herself, sitting in the comfortable seat of the train with Errol on her shoulder. Then her lips quirked upward.

"You're free to go, Errol. I'm sorry, I have nothing for you this time, little friend," she told the owl in a sincere, contrite tone. Errol gave a disappointed hoot and spread his wings. Then he flew in a circle above the witch's head as a sort of farewell in the avian way and was out of the open window.

A sigh from the witch slightly blew the top of the parchment in her hand. She smirked, and then the parchment on her hand was ash.

The pistons of the train, Hogwarts Express, rolled to a stop. She gathered her suitcase and carried it out of the compartment, murmuring "excuse me" along the way. The people, all of them teenagers, stared bluntly at the young witch making her way among them. Some of them whispered among each other; the others were content with the staring, forgetting their mothers' etiquette lessons.

At last, the brown, curly-haired lass, Hermione Granger, stepped off the train and glanced around her.

She was home.

oOo

"Hermione Granger went back to Hogwarts," Arthur Weasley muttered to himself in disbelief. Two sombre-looking wizards, the other with ginger hair and the other with a lightning scar on his forehead, sat beside him, looking like they were engaged in a staring contest with the young owl standing on the table before them. The ginger-haired wizard, Ron Weasley, sighed loudly and laid back on the chair with his arms behind his neck. He stared up at the ceiling, unaware that the dark-haired wizard beside him, Harry Potter, was watching him with concerned eyes.

"It's all right-" he started to say but Ron cut him off immediately with a, "No it's not, Harry. Don't make it look like that." Then he stormed off to his room, leaving the two wizards who sighed at the same time.

Harry rubbed his temple in exasperation, finding himself in a losing battle with an threatening headache. Arthur tapped his fingers mindlessly on the wooden table and after a few seconds, imitated the young wizard and rubbed his temple too.

"Well, Hermione's always been that ambitious, wasn't she?" the older wizard tried to reassure the younger one. Harry nodded, all the while rubbing the increasing pain in his head. "Yes, she is. And Merlin help us if Ron would like to change that."

The Weasley patriarch gave a chuckle and patted Harry's right shoulder. Harry chuckled too, then groaned almost instantly as the little laughter aggravated the pain in his skull.

"A headache potion, Harry?" Arthur offered.

"Yes, sure, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied, rubbing his temple continuously. Oh, where was Ginny when he needed her? Not that he only needed Ginny during his migraine bouts, but she had a way with her hands in times like this.

Errol watched the groaning wizard with his wide, dark owl eyes. Unlike the humans in his surroundings, to him, it was just another ordinary day in the Weasley household.

oOo

_One hundred ninety nine, two hundred, two hundred one…_ Goodness, what kind of whore-slash-_creature_ slept on this bed?

Hermione's brows furrowed at the two hundred fifth hastily engraved line on the four poster bed's ceiling. Of course, this was just under the assumption that those lines were a substitution for the proverbial notches on the proverbial bedpost, but really, two hundred twenty one (and counting)? How sexually deprived can this person be? The bed looked like it was from a Slytherin, considering that it was decked in silver and green when it was given to her by good ol' Professor McGonagall. Hermione arrived in her assigned bedroom after the trip from London (with a happy sigh as she found out that it was all hers) and found the bed deliberately mocking her, covered proudly by her enemies' colours.

She Scourgified the bed ten times before she changed it into her beloved House colours and settled in.

How ironic. Now she was making up stories about how sexually-deprived some Slytherins were. She doubted that the Gryffindor boys were ever like this.

The thought of Harry's and Ron's beds covered with carved lines up to the ceiling made her blush. Now that was-

_There you go_, the little voice inside her mind said. Hermione sighed unhappily. She resolved not to think about _him_ and the others all throughout her stay in Hogwarts but every minute that dragged in made it harder for her to keep her resolve.

The things people do for love. Now, commence the attack.

It was not short of stupid how Ronald tried to stop her from coming back for her N. E. W. T. S. In all seven years of their friendship and hidden infatuation with one another, hadn't the ginger git ever understood how she practically breathed for her education? Yes, she, Ron and Harry can beat the top easily, being war heroes, but she didn't like the idea one bit. Ron may have liked it, Harry irked by it as usual, but Hermione was nigh on against it. It went against her moral foundations, getting to the top due to reasons other than hard work. She didn't work against the forces of evil to get a high position in the Ministry without much sweat!

Ron was livid when he found out about her decision. Harry was more understanding, even going as far as giving her pocket money for her stay in Hogwarts. She declined, but Harry's attitude was so overwhelming compared to Ron's irrationality, so in a moment of high-running emotions, she hugged Harry so hard and left without noticing how heavy her cloak suddenly felt.

She considered thanking Harry about it tomorrow, but decided better of it. An impish smile made its way to her lips. Harry could do with a little bit of ingratitude for trying to meddle with her pride.

She burnt Ron's message earlier in the train. It was filled with warnings of possible future infidelity, break up, even a publicized dragging by her bushy head out of castle's gates, but she knew that her beloved boyfriend was just testing the waters and would never be able to accomplish anything in the list above. She loved Ron too much for that, and he likewise.

She sighed. Who said everything would be perfect? Her relationship with the most adorable ginger in the world wasn't perfect at most, but it filled her with the wholeness and belongingness that she always searched for both in the Wizarding world and in the Muggle world.

She found it all in Ron. So why let go?

With a small smile, she dimmed the lights with her wand. "Sweet dreams, my king," she whispered into the darkness.

oOo

Great.

Just bloody great.

Cold grey eyes pinned the hairy, icky, gruesome creatures humans preferably call spiders to the wall and hopefully, to their arachnial (if there ever is a word such as that) demise. Draco Malfoy fervently wished for Avada Kedavra-powered eyes at that moment. It wasn't as if he enjoyed killing, but he would if he had his wand right now and could just blast those creatures to Merlin-knows-where.

But of course, Merlin loved that place where he intended to blast those creatures to, and so he was without wand, without gloves and without patience right now.

Then he heard a loud slam and loud cursing simultaneously. He did not jump at the sound like a ninny, really, and look around wildly after that. Really, Malfoys didn't jump in the any type of sound, whether it was a swearing ghost of an old sailor or not. The bookshelves may be thick enough to muffle the sounds coming from the opposite corridor, but he still heard the cursing voice as clear as breaking glass.

Good Lord, was that Granger?

Another slam sounded. Again.

Cursing under his breath (he could do it discreetly unlike the entity on the other side of the bookshelves, _merci beaucoup_) and rolling his shoulders (he really wasn't frightened), he squared his chest and walked around the bookshelves. He strolled to the direction of the cursing sai- err, Granger and found a very amusing sight.

Goodness, a brown nest was resting atop a mountain of books. What kind of bird decided to-

"Malfoy?" Granger asked, appalled at seeing him. But then, the shock instantly wore off and a grimace decorated her face like a mask. "Jeez, Malfoy, it seems like something-"

A loud squeak sounded to his left and Draco jumped to the opposite direction instantly, glancing frantically at the black rat that scurried from behind him to the shelf in front of him. Goodness in Merlin's holy pants, that thing was near him, just near his ankle… Sweet hippogriffs…

"-scared the bejesus out of you" Granger finished, looking shocked at him again. Well, that's what he saw in his peripheral vision before her amused laughter filled the library. He scowled. That laughter wasn't amused at all, he liked to refer to it as hysterical or hag-like. Very haggy indeed.

"Shut that trap up, Mud-" he started to say but cut the sentence up immediately. He would've given the impression that he cut himself off because of the way Granger's eyes suddenly turned cold at his words, but the bint could think of anything she wanted. He didn't do it because he cared for her reaction. It was just that-

"Well, the Mudblood wouldn't bother you anymore, you prat," she replied, and with a huff, fled away from him.

Draco kept the indifferent expression on his face long after Granger was gone. He didn't care for the Mud- no, Muggle-born's emotions at all. He has his reasons, and he was going to keep them unless Dumbledore himself would ask him.

Well, he didn't know that that moment would definitely happen.

As if a switch turned off the disturbing thoughts in his head, his blond head turned towards the spiders now crawling over the dusty books and a scowl marred his features again. The scowl melted into a pensive look. "Now what to do with you?" he softly muttered to himself, fending away thoughts not spider-related from his mind.

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><p>The song Hermione was singing in the train was "I Miss You" by Blink 182.<p> 


End file.
